


Erik's Mission

by pacole



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Calm Down Erik, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Sweetheart, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I know I cannot title fics, M/M, Swearing, at least according to erik, but stay with me guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8331541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pacole/pseuds/pacole
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is on a mission.
 
To fetch his husband from the airport.
 
 
(idk what this is, but I think that's it).





	

“Fuck.” Erik swears as he pushes past the throngs of people on the street. “Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_!”

 

More than a few people glare at him as he shoves them out of his way. A woman covers the ears of her son beside her as she too shoots daggers at him.

 

Erik promptly swears again.

 

The woman stares at him more angrily, and Erik’s not really sure how that’s actually possible. If looks could kill, he’d probably already be skinned alive, quartered, and burned at stake by now.

 

The boy is giggling.

Well, not like he cares. All he wants to do is get to the fucking airport before Charles’ plane lands, and _good Lord how has fifteen minutes passed already he’s not going to get there in time – move, lady, MOVE! MAN ON URGENT MISSION HERE!_

 

Erik shoves her out of the way and barely pays attention to the fact that she stumbles and nearly falls.

 

He’s pretty sure an old man beside him mumbles something to the effect of “Young people these days…” He shuts up right away when Erik smiles at him, the smile that everyone says promises serial murder.

 

Despite what most people think, he doesn’t actually like scaring people with that smile. Well, besides the interns. And his colleagues. And everyone that pisses him off. Which includes most people he interacts with on a daily basis.

 

Actually, maybe he _does_ like scaring people. That is, all except Charles – his sweet, beautiful Charles whom he loves more than anything, who is currently on a plane from New York, where he spent a _full week_ away from Erik at a conference, and whose plane was landing in ten minutes time, and Erik _promised_ to be there to fetch him but he’s going to be late and _what will Charles think if he gets off the plane and doesn’t see his husband there?_

 

It’s all Azazel’s fault, Erik decides. If he hadn’t decided to drive _Erik’s_ car while he was drunk, he wouldn’t have crashed it into _a fucking stop sign_ , of all things, then Erik would have been able to drive to work instead of taking fucking public transport that moved slower than a half-dead ninety year old snail with whatever the snail equivalent of arthritis was, then he wouldn’t have been late for work, then stupid Shaw wouldn’t have made Erik stay back late to finish his paperwork, then he would have been on time to fetch Charles from the airport. _Plus_ , if he had his car, he would have gotten to the airport much faster!

 

_See_ , Erik thought smugly, _all Azazel’s fault_.

 

(Never mind that his paperwork was actually due two weeks ago. Or that he was the one who got Azazel drunk in the first place. Never mind that. It as still Azazel’s fault.)

 

Enough of Azazel. Erik’s head hurts just thinking about him and his poor car, now a mangled mess of metal in the repair shop. Instead, he purposely directs his thoughts towards happier places – Charles, for instance, love of his life, light in the darkness, sweetest of the sweet, smartest of the smart, loveliest of the lovely, most beautiful soul in existence, owner of the brightest big blue eyes on this side of the galaxy... …

 

Erik could probably compose entire volumes of sonnets on Charles alone. He’s sure that if he ever finds the time to sit down and just _write_ , he’ll probably be able to fill pages upon pages of what are essentially love notes to Charles. Perhaps he should start now, then if he does end up late, he can belt out fourteen lines of poetry composed in iambic pentameter in celebration of one Charles Xavier, thirty-seven years old, holder of a PhD in genetics and another in educational psychology, love of Erik’s life, light in the darkness, sweetest of the sweet, smartest of the smart, loveliest of the lovely, most beautiful soul in existence, owner of the brightest big blue eyes on this side of the galaxy, in order to prove his undying love to Charles and express his sincerest apologies at being late.

 

He’s in the midst of trying to find a rhyme for ‘sexy’ (Presidency? Galaxy? Brilliancy?) when he finally reaches the airport. Relishing in the cool air that is a welcome reprieve from the sweltering summer heat of Hammer Bay, he dashes through the familiar atriums of Magneto International Airport (and honestly, which idiot named the place?!) to get to the ‘Arrivals’ section – and gasps in relief when his eyes scan the display board only to find that Charles’ flight had been delayed. Not for long, only a few minutes, but enough time for Erik to tidy himself up and look impeccable enough to give the impression that he’s been waiting for hours. He’s aware that that’s not really honest, but well, what Charles doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

 

As Erik adjusts his collar again for the sixteenth time in the three minutes, he finally spots Charles – looking exhausted, sleep-deprived, and weary, but nonetheless sporting a slight smile – who immediately brightens up upon seeing Erik.

 

Erik is inordinately pleased to see the effect he has on Charles.

 

“ _Charles_ ,” he gasps as he throws his arms around said man. “I’ve missed you so much.”

 

“It’s only been a week, love.” Charles says back as he sets his suitcase on the ground and presses a kiss to Erik’s cheek.

 

“And that’s a week too long!” Erik protests. He draws back from their tight embrace to look at his husband properly, and – laws against public indecency be damned – kisses him deeply on the lips.

 

Charles moans against his mouth but doesn’t make any attempts to dislodge himself. Erik feels a deep, bone-deep sense of satisfaction at that.

 

Somewhere in the distance, a gruff voice is saying, “Look, bubs, no one wants to see you two lovebirds make out. Fuck off to a broom closet or some shit.”

 

 

 


End file.
